Film Reviews by Steve

With the implementation of the Production Code in 1934 Hollywood films didn't only become less salacious, they were also more conservative. The censors were strongly allied to religious groups and asserted their role was to enforce 'American values'. Plus the '30s was a foreign country and they did things differently there.

Some directors pushed back and some didn't. And it seems Mark Sandrich was one who didn't. The screwball plot of Carefree is regrettably sexist and perverse, with Fred Astaire as a psychoanalyst who uses his professional prerogative to influence the romantic choices of Ginger Rogers. Sometimes under hypnosis.

OK, this is screwball, but it is also creepy. Even allowing for 90 years of social change, this is the Fred and Ginger series in decline. The few dance routines are not among the duo's best and are set to some of Irving Berlin's lesser songs. Ralph Bellamy is one of the great comedy support actors, but there's not much for him here.

Set against all that, there are some big laughs and Luella Gear is fun as Ginger's sassy older sidekick. Rogers gets an equal share of the spotlight for once. The romantic dance duet for Change Partners may not be one of the stars' greatest hits, but it's still pretty good. There are merits for hardcore fans, but it's a guilty pleasure.

This looks fabulous on paper. It's directed by the maestro of the sophisticated, studio era sex comedy, Ernst Lubitsch, who as usual adapts his story from a successful European play. There's a script by Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett. It stars the  doyenne of '30s screwball, Claudette Colbert. And Gary Cooper was as big a star as anyone in the studio era.

Unfortunately it doesn't work. The contrived situations are heavy with salacious gags, but they fail to go off. Possibly because the slow and lugubrious Cooper is miscast. Lubitsch can't bring a sparkle to Wilder and Brackett's trademark cynicism and eventually the ironic tone gets tiresome. Though there is the most famous and inspired meet-cute in pictures.

An American tycoon (Cooper) on the Côte d'Azur is frustrated in his quest to buy pyjama tops as the posh department store won't separate them.  He encounters a penniless French aristocrat (Colbert) looking to purchase just the bottoms... At their wedding she discovers his seven previous marriages. So she- basically- withholds sex until he learns not to be a toxic male.

There's a regrettable male on female slap, though the wife wins the battle of the sexes through her wits. It's insubstantial frou-frou. There's some light subtext about the friction between US capitalism and European aristocracy but reality hardly intrudes. Colbert almost rescues it, and wears some eye-catching fashions. But everyone's best work is elsewhere.

This is the second of six films directed by Marcel Carné between 1938-46 which are the foundation of French poetic realism. Though without his usual screenwriter  Jacques Prévert, there is more realism, and less poetry. It's an ensemble melodrama set among the residents of the title address.

What makes this most like other Carné films is the romantic pessimism of the central story about a juvenile couple who can't make a living in the depression, so check in to execute a double suicide. Annabella and Jean-Pierre Aumont are extremely beautiful and affecting in the roles.

There's a wonderful support cast of French character actors, but the emphasis of their stories is unbalanced by the charisma of Arletty and Louis Jouvet as a sex worker and her pimp. Watching them bicker while shacked up in bed spotlights how much more adult late '30s French cinema was than Hollywood.

There is an awful lot of infidelity going on! The huge set of the Canal St. Martin and Maurice Jaubert's romantic score bring atmosphere. It's arguably the least of Carné's releases around the war years, but the image of the young lovers wresting with malign fate in the dark of their temporary room is among his most potent.

This masterpiece of French poetic realism exists in a world of myth and premonition, which is a product of the synthesis between Marcel Carné's stunning gallery of sombre imagery and Jacques Prévert screenplay of rich romantic symbolism. Which allow no relief from the vision of life an instant of passion surrendered in a fog of despair.

In WWII, Vichy said France was lost because of Quai des Brumes. Has any bigger claim ever been made about the impact of a film! Carné replied that you don't blame the barometer for the weather. But even though the occupation was two years away, the shattered, weary fatalism seems to anticipate the impotent shame of the war.

Jean Gabin plays an army deserter, who stumbles on a gathering of lost souls in a dockside bar in Le Havre. Including Michele Morgan, so beautiful, so young, in her transparent raincoat (costumes by Coco Chanel!). The slender plot isn't paramount; it is all about feeling, and the peerless chemistry between the lovers.

Morgan runs up and down the emotional scale with the ease of a precode Barbara Stanwyck. And we get another compelling performance from Gabin. They are properly sexy. There is an oppressive melancholy drawn from Maurice Jaubert's bluesy orchestral score and a gloomy pre-noir look. It's my pick as the best French film ever made.

This landmark gangster flick isn't so much about shoot outs and chase scenes as philosophical themes relating to France on the precipice of another horrific war. And the brutish/fragile performance of Jean Gabin in the title role which made him a name outside his home country. Though Charles Boyer starred in the instant Hollywood remake, Algiers.

Gabin plays a Parisian outlaw hiding out in the dirty, mysterious Casbah (in Algiers), only emerging to carry out a jewel raid and then disappear back into the labyrinthine alleys and secret passages. When a rich, beautiful Parisienne (Mireille Balin) comes slumming in the ghetto, he's unsure whether he wants her, or her diamonds.

This is poetic realism, a movement in French cinema before WWII. It was filmed in the studio with a distorted, expressionist look. As Pépé begins to yield control, the picture loses focus. There is a sense of France drifting into a shadowland of pessimism and decline. Everyone talks of better times, but in the past and far away.

The gangster is king of the underworld; but it is a decaying slum. He wants to be free, but... this is an illusion, a memory. It's not difficult to see all this angst and atmosphere as an omen of the Hollywood film noir. So consuming was the impression of dread and fatalism, it was actually banned in France in the approach to the '39-'45 war.

When Leo McCarey won the Oscar for best director in 1938 for The Awful Truth he said he should have won it for this one. He was mistaken, but this ultra-sentimental story about the struggles of a couple in their seventies after they lose their home in the depression is a big favourite of critics and other film makers.

Though this is Hollywood realism. The house the couple (Beulah Bondi and Victor Moore) have to give up is a country mansion... We're expected to believe that having lived in extraordinary wealth, they are suddenly plunged into absolute poverty and forced to sofa surf with their reluctant children.

It's unusual territory for a golden age studio film, but McCarey is no social realist. The performances are too folksy and it strays into whimsical fantasy and the cutes. Most damaging of all is the sentimental music score. Japanese director Yasujirô Ozu did all this better as Tokyo Story in 1953, which is even more celebrated.

The obvious conclusion is that USA was in need of national insurance so its people might not live and die in poverty. Which Roosevelt introduced. But McCarey was a Conservative and welcomed Senator McCarthy's blacklist. He was a hugely successful director of christian Americana, but was all wrong for this. The Awful Truth though, is a must.

Superior Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers screwball musical which is utterly typical of their collaborations while including a few curious departures. There's nothing new in the mistaken identity set up with Fred as an American in Paris posing as Russian ballet dancer, who gets snagged up with Ginger's hot jazz babe on the luxury liner back to New York.

Still, the plot is entertaining, and there's an above average script with some pretty good gags. There's even some lightweight thematic content which compares classical and modern dancing. The main difference is one of tone; George and Ira Gershwin's romantic songs have a comical touch. And they are all time classics.

Rogers sings They All Laughed; Astaire performs the Oscar nominated They Can't Take That Away from Me; they duet on Let's Call the Whole Thing Off and deliver a routine on roller skates! It's always great to see Eric Blore doing his unctuous hireling schtick. French actor Ketti Gallian adds a little chic bitchiness.

This is the seventh Astaire-Rogers musical so maybe they wanted to freshen up the formula. Regrettably we don't get a climactic ballroom romance number. Instead there's some mock-ballet. The box office was slow and Ginger sometimes looks bored... But there are only ten of these! Anyone who loves the '30s musical will adore this.

While this was released at about the crest of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers' box office popularity it's not among their greatest films together. Some of Irving Berlin's musical numbers are legend and the staging reaches the high standard we expect from the stars, but the comic plot is disappointing.

For the first time, Fred and Ginger are in America the whole way through. He is a sailor in the US navy on leave in San Francisco and she's an old flame with a nightclub act. And shipmate Randolph Scott has an on/off romance with a frumpy schoolteacher (Harriet Nelson) whose makeover transforms her into a knockout.

The star duo's plots are always flimsy, but this is extended to over 110 minutes. Of course, we're all here for the songs, and the dance routines. These are variable but Rogers belts out Let Yourself Go to good effect. She does a rare solo tap which is decent and Astaire does one which is peerless.

And then it all climaxes with Let's Face the Music and Dance, one of their best ever ballroom romances. And this plugs straight into the heart of the depression as they abandon their suicide attempts and elect to carry on, but with style. No cuts, all one shot. And the screen shimmers with stardust.

Sumptuous and expansive MGM production of Alexandre Dumas jr's 1852 novel about a courtesan who is destroyed by the hypocrisy of high society and her virtuous, transgressive love for a younger man. It's principally another vehicle for Greta Garbo which makes some sort of accommodation for her non-American accent.

She doesn't sound French, but then... neither does anyone else! She gives an impassioned but nuanced portrayal and thanks to sensitive direction from George Cukor her romantic scenes with Robert Taylor have an intimacy. Among a capable support cast, Henry Daniell is an effective bad guy as Camille's rich, ruthless patron.

Given this was released at the high tide of the Production Code, the script doesn't go into detail on the realities of life for a 19th century high society sex worker. But there is an impression of the iniquities of the period, especially for women, when the financial securities of the demi-monde are not even an afterthought.

Those born into the precariat either sell themselves to the aristocracy, or feed off each other. But this isn't social realism, it's a period melodrama with wonderful costumes and set decor and a superb score, which is the context for Garbo's baroque performance. Cukor keeps the mood buoyant. Until the famous death scene, at least.

Following the huge box office failure of The Scarlet Empress the previous year, Paramount slashed Josef von Sternberg's budget for his final release with his great muse, Marlene Dietrich. And it feels like the series is running out of time. The introduction of the Production Code in '34 undermined their dalliance with taboo themes...

And Dietrich looks a bit mature to still play the imperious goddess of love. Here she's a sex worker in turn of the century Seville who is so irresistible she destroys every man who loves her. Mostly Lionel Atwill as a blimpish aristocrat and Cesar Romero as a dashing freedom fighter. Naturally, they fight a duel over her.

And there are the usual signifiers of exotic Spain: with the flamenco and the bullfighters; the carnival and the hot passion. The staging of the masquerade with the grotesque costumes is the best and most characteristic part of von Sternberg's visual design. The story is familiar, basically a loose reshuffle of Carmen.

Dietrich sings a bawdy song which doesn't sound at all Spanish, and her German accent is a poor fit. Though no one goes to these films for authenticity. This marks the end of Marlene's tenure as one of the great Hollywood stars. Von Sternberg too was out of fashion. It is worth seeing for fans of their collaborations, but maybe best that this was the last.

Classic example of how the Hollywood studios would take a successful premise and disguise it in a different setting or genre. It's a retelling of Red Dust which was a big hit for MGM in 1932. An American adventurer slums around Asia pursued by an illiterate, unsophisticated sex worker only to be tempted by a refined lady from his past.

They even retain Clark Gable as the macho tough guy and Jean Harlow as the tart with a heart. Rosalind Russell stands in for Mary Astor as the high class dame and the whole adventure is relocated to a merchant ship operating out of Hong Kong. The main negative is the director Tay Garnet, who isn't much of a stylist.

But there's plenty of entertainment to be had with a droll script and an action climax as Wallace Beery attempts to relieve the shipping line of its cargo of gold. The stars and support cast make it fresh and fun. Robert Benchley brings abundant comic relief in his usual role as a habitual drunk.

Maybe this recycling betrays a lack of ideas. Or it's an example of how the studio system, with its roster of writers, technicians and stars was able to lavish gloss on almost any project and make it sparkle again. China Seas is formulaic, but also an unpretentious lively diversion. And no one does romantic foreign intrigue this well anymore.

Strange musical comedy which is a mishmash of miscellaneous ideas. There's Irene Dunne as a Russian aristocrat exiled in Paris who runs a fashion house and falls in love with a rich American jock (Randolph Scott). And there's Fred Astaire as a US jazz band leader abroad who romances Ginger Rogers, a compatriot posing as a Polish countess.

It feels like a classic Astaire and Rogers vehicle wedged into a subpar Ernst Lubitsch film. It's further unbalanced by some comisseration for the plight of Russian émigrés grubbing along in Paris since the 1917 revolution. It's the forgotten Fred And Ginger musical, yet there are some amazing numbers.

Of course, we get their wonderful dance routines together, especially the closing reprise to I Won't Dance. And a couple of songs by Otto Harbach and Jerome Kern are among the greatest compositions for musicals ever: Yesterdays and Smoke Get in Your Eyes. Though they are not presented in the fashion we are now used to.

Irene Dunne sings them in an operetta style, which was probably in keeping with the original Broadway versions. They are fine but far from definitive. Plus there's Hard to Handle and the Oscar nominated Lovely to Look At. And the exotic fashions and deco studio sets. It's a must-see for fans of Astaire and Rogers, but generally a mixed bag.

Handsome MGM production which reduces Leo Tolstoy's weighty novel to a 90 minute romance. So it's all about Greta Garbo suffering in the title role rather than the long haul of Russian political and social change. She'd already appeared in a silent version called Love in 1927 for the same studio, which has a happy ending!

Garbo got her favourite co-star for that, John Gilbert. This time it's the usually excellent Fredric March as Vronsky. The main problem is the lack of passion between them. She is inert and he lacks spark; there is no chemistry. Maybe the newly implemented Production Code kept the lid on. At least the censors let the famous suicide stand..

Clarence Brown seems more confident directing the lavish sets than he does the lovers. Some of the camera movement is stunning. There are good support performances, particularly Basil Rathbone as Anna's inflexible, conformist husband. And Maureen O'Sullivan is so beautiful, it's hard to take your eyes off her.

Part of the problem is that the Russian aristocracy is portrayed as entitled and yet useless, but there is little reflection on their privilege. Too much MGM, not enough Tolstoy. Instead there are closeups of Garbo. It's a listless, melancholy film with a patchy script, though the novel probably hasn't been done any better. In English anyway.

A title card in the opening credits claims this is based on the diaries of Catherine II, Empress of Russia. But it's a Hollywood melodrama which takes only an outline from history. Its principal impact is from the astonishing costumes, oppressive sets and fabulous expressionist photography. Its visual dimension is prodigious. Everything is spectacular.

Marlene Dietrich plays Catherine the Great... from the naive German ingenue to the ambitious Russian despot. She arrives in Moscow to marry Peter III (Sam Jaffe) and finds a grotesque promiscuous hell. And to prosper in hell, you become a devil. She has her husband assassinated and seizes the throne by sleeping her way through the army.

Dietrich hardly gives a performance. For the first hour she does open mouthed astonishment. And then we get a tyrannical Mae West, played out to a score of rousing Russian symphonies. Being a Joseph von Sternberg production, sometimes we're just watching him watching his star. It cost the studio a fortune and it bombed, but it's one of the standout films of the '30s!

Maybe there was no stomach in the depression for this reckless decadence. When it opens with nudity and a montage of torture and murder, it's clear this slipped out before the Production Code was enforced. There are moments which are scarcely credible. For my money, this is among the best historical melodramas. And surely the most excessive.

Low budget arthouse romance long acclaimed by critics and film makers. It's a simple rustic folk tale which feels like a salty, enduring ballad by Jacques Brel. Maurice Jaubert's waltz played on accordion is prominent. A young, unworldly couple marry and start a life together on his working barge.

And they go through a period of adjustment. The groom (Jean Dasté) is rough, and jealous and unromantic. The impulsive bride (Dita Parlo) is frustrated and aware of a more pleasant life out there, somewhere. Maybe in the fashions and dancehalls of Paris.

But they love each other. For guidance she draws on a raucous boatman who has experience of the world but lives like a complacent beast. He's played by Michel Simon who is a legend in French cinema and he gives the film its flavour. Dasté and especially Parlo bring the pathos.

It begins like social realism on the oily Seine, but gradually enters a state of enchantment. In that respect it evokes FW Murnau's 1927 silent masterpiece, Sunrise. This isn't as great but it is unique and haunting and beguiling. And reminds us once more of what a magical medium cinema is.